


79. An Unexpected Vulnerability

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [79]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	79. An Unexpected Vulnerability

_**Ryan Kwanten & [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/profile)**_[**sam_worthington**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/): An unexpected vulnerability  
[current]

" _Damn_ it." Ryan shoves his burned hand under the cold water tap, angry with himself. He's jumpy, too much so for a lit stove, and if he's honest with himself then he's been on edge for days. Something is subtly wrong between him and Sam, and he's going mad trying to put his finger on it. He would blame it on the shoot, but Sam hasn't been complaining about work. Which means it's something closer to home.

The uncertainty might kill him.

Frowning, he spoons red wine sauce over the lamb shanks, then lets the oven door shut with a slam. He's determined to fix this... whatever it is, tonight. Dinner, massage, sex. It's worked before. Surely Sam just needs more personal attention from him.

"I'm home," Sam calls out, like he always does, the moment he's through the door. He can smell dinner cooking and he groans, his stomach rumbling softly. "Whatever it is smells delicious," he tells Ryan, meeting him halfway between the foyer and the kitchen and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

"Braised lamb with wine and rosemary. And potatoes," Ryan adds for good measure, because, well, potatoes. Always a hit with Sam. He slips his arms around Sam's waist and pulls him back in for another, longer kiss. And as usual that little voice in his brain pipes up and says _fuck dinner, sex now_ , but Ryan is not listening to that voice tonight. So he steps back, letting Sam untangle. "Good day?"

"Yeah." Sam nods. "Really good day. A lot of fighting though. My arms feel like they're going to fall off," he says with a smile. "What about you? How was your day?"

"It was good." It was crap, really. Ryan can't sleep, can't write, and London is a pain in the ass place to try and go jogging. "Dinner's hot. Do you want a beer?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks. Just let me wash up," Sam says, giving Ryan another kiss before heading to the bathroom. There he washes his hands and face and then his hands again, forcing himself out of the room before he can wash for a third time. But ignoring the urge just makes him feel twitchy. He walks back to the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, smiling at Ryan. "Did you get any writing done?"

"Um, no." Ryan cracks open two beers and sets them on the table, then pulls the dish of lamb out of the oven. "But I..." Ryan trails off, trying to recall what he did with all the time on his hands today. He smiles apologetically and fills Sam's plate. "I found this great recipe."

Sam grins. "You know, you're welcome to come to the set with me anytime you want," he points out. "Although if this tastes _half_ as good as it looks and smells, I'll be encouraging you to stay home and find more recipes."

Ryan smiles back, melting a little. "Cheers, then," he says, tapping his beer lightly against Sam's. "Let's think of something to do this weekend," he suggests, cutting his lamb into pieces. "Are you still going to have off on Sunday?"

"Yeah. As far as I know," Sam says, digging in. And just like he suspected, it's brilliant. "Mm. So good." _So_ good. He's been fed better in the past few months than he has in years. "We could take the train out to Brighton."

"I think they've got a nude beach." Ryan pushes his potatoes around on his plate, soaking up the wine sauce. "Seriously, we could catch the end of the Brighton Festival. It's supposed to be amazing. Want me to book us a hotel?"

"Yes, but we're not going to the nude beach. At least I'm not," Sam clarifies, eyes sparkling. "That's all I need. Full frontal in the tabloids."

"They don't have a lens big enough," Ryan teases, grinning back. This feels better, easier. Like normal. So what has Ryan been so worried about? Was he just imagining the tense look on Sam's face when he came out of the washroom? He circles his fingertip around the rim of his beer bottle, thinking.

"What?" Sam asks, watching Ryan.

"Um." _Shit_. Ryan swallows hard. "Is everything going... okay? With the shoot and... everything? Being out here?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. Why?" he asks, taking another bite of his dinner. The cupboard behind Ryan's head is open roughly an inch and he tamps down the urge to go close it.

God, Ryan's losing his mind. He's actually turning into _that guy_ , the paranoid one who creates drama where there isn't any. "Um. Nothing," Ryan shakes his head at himself. "Just tired, I guess. Forget it." He pushes the serving dish closer to Sam's plate.

Sam takes another helping, having devoured the first. "Are _you_ okay?" he asks, unable to stop looking at that fucking cupboard. "You don't seem as happy here as you did in Australia."

"I'm good." Ryan shrugs. "Well, I'm. I'm not really used to a city like this," he explains. "It's a lot more closed-in than Los Angeles."

Sam nods. "I thought you'd like being more central where you could walk or take the tube to everything," he says, taking a long sip of his beer, eyes flickering to the cabinet. Maybe if he finishes this one, he can fix it when he gets up to get another. "We could move if you want though. It wouldn't take long for them to find us a place in Greenwich or somewhere a little more open."

"No, it's good. I just need to get used to things," Ryan replies. "Take the opportunity to run along the river, that kind of thing. I bought pastries for dessert, if you want it. There's a great bakery down the street." Tracking Sam's distracted gaze, he looks over his shoulder, confused. Damn it, he's getting twitchy. "Is there something behind me?"

"No, the cupboard's just open," Sam says, casually as he can.

 _Huh?_ Ryan checks over his shoulder again, then gets up and shifts a misaligned plate out of the way, pushing the cupboard door closed. Sitting back down, he looks at Sam in sudden suspicion. Then he looks around the kitchen again, to see if anything else is out of place. "That was really bothering you." It's not quite a question.

Sam pokes at his potatoes. "Yeah. Some," he admits uncomfortably.

Ryan nods, thinking. Starting to put pieces together, finally. "So... what else is bothering you?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam says with a small shrug, mashing his potatoes with his fork. "It's all just stupid stuff."

Folding his arms on the table, Ryan purses his lips and watches Sam obliterate his dinner for about ten more seconds. Then he reaches out and closes his hand over Sam's. "It's not stupid," he says softly. "Let me help. Tell me how to make things easier."

It's one thing for Ryan to know he has OCD but to let him know all his fucked up little habits? "You're gonna think I'm crazy." Which Sam knows he's not, but it's sure as hell not normal either.

"You're one of the sanest people I know." Ryan caresses the back of Sam's hand with his thumb. He feels like he's tiptoeing around a landmine. "I don't see things like you do," he murmurs. "That doesn't make you crazy, it just makes us different. So tell me how I can make things less stressful."

Fuck. Sam knows he needs to tell Ryan. At the very least some of the behaviours might settle if Ryan knows and he's not trying to hide them. "When you put my clothes away, I need you to make sure the front of the shirts and the legs of the jeans face the window and the hangers have to hook over the rod, with the end facing away from you," he says, glancing at Ryan, trying to read his face.

Ryan blinks, taking that in. Then he nods, trying to inscribe the image to memory. "Okay, I can do that. And I'll make sure all the drawers are totally shut," he says, making a guess. "What else?"

Sam bites at his lower lip, feeling like an idiot, but Ryan's been good so far so he keeps going. "I need your hairbrush in the cabinet instead of the counter, the towel hung straight over the rack so the bottom edges meet, your toothbrush on the right side and mine on the left in the holder, both facing forward, and I need the toilet paper put on the roll so that it feeds over not under," he says, pausing, his cheeks hot with discomfort.

"Jesus." Now Ryan's seriously starting to worry that he's not going to remember all this. "I must be driving you mad," he realizes, thinking about all the little stressors that are surely adding up, due to the sheer fact that Sam lives with him. He rubs his fingers over his lips. "Why didn't you say something?" It's a stupid question. Ryan knows why.

"Because it's my problem, not yours," Sam blurts out. "And you're not messy. There's nothing wrong with any of the things you do. It's just - I can't help it. I try to ignore those things and I try, you know, not to do the counting stuff and the washing and when I don't do it, it just eats away at me. It's like the fucking sky's going to fall in if I don't."

Ryan blows out a breath. "You don't have problems. _We_ have problems. Together," he insists. It's something he's never been able to convince Sam of. Although, true, this is pretty personal. And he doesn't have a clue how to fix it. "Just... keep telling me what I can do differently. I'll do the best I can. And we'll get through this."

"Most of the rest of it's just keeping things neat and in their place so if you pick something up, try and put it back where it was," Sam says. "I can cope with most of it and just you knowing should help. I've been trying to fix everything without being too obvious and trying to control the counting and the washing but the more I try to control it, the worse it gets, so if you can handle me doing all this shit and not get frustrated with me or think that I can just stop, that'll help."

“Okay." Ryan gives himself a moment to process and gets up to start clearing the dishes off the table, stacking them in the sink. "I can handle a lot, Sam," he says eventually. "But will you promise to tell me if I'm doing something that's getting to you?" Because otherwise Ryan is going to begin second-guessing everything he does, he knows it.

Sam nods. "Yeah, I will," he says, helping clear the table. "Thanks for being okay with this," he adds, sliding his arms around Ryan from behind and kissing the back of his neck. "I thought it might affect how you see me."

Ryan frowns. One tiny vulnerability... "Even Superman's got his kryptonite," he mutters. "I don't expect you to be more than you are, love. You'll still be everything to me."

Sam hugs Ryan tighter, lips brushed across his skin again. "Love you," he whispers, throat too tight with emotion to say anything more.

Ryan lifts Sam's hand to his mouth, kissing his fingertips. "Would you like that dessert now?" he asks, looking over his shoulder.

Sam grins. "Are we talking about the pastries?"

"I was, yeah." Ryan smiles, breathing easier now. "But we can always have those later in bed, if you want."

"Yeah." Sam's grin widens and he teasingly grinds against Ryan. "That's exactly what I want."

"You know how I love to give you what you want," Ryan murmurs. Sometimes it's easier than others.  



End file.
